


His Lady

by marchionessofblackadder



Series: A Crown of Roses [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their argument, Belle decides to finally brave the winter conditions to clear her head. When she meets a stranger who takes her away from the castle, Rumpelstiltskin shares his displeasure with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Lady

**Author's Note:**

> Answering the prompt for a "Something There" scenario. Enjoy!

For the next three days, Belle didn’t see much of Rumpelstiltskin. Sometimes she could feel him watching as she walked to and from the library, or whenever she took her meal in the great hall, but she could never catch him at it. He would spin, or he would pass too quickly by the door before she could speak to him. Truthfully, she didn’t want to at first because she was still frustrated with him and not a little hurt.

That lasted as long as a day before she grew weary of holding onto such foul thoughts, and she began to miss him. To keep herself busy, she attacked the library with a ferocity, pulling shelves of books just to organize and alphabetize them. Some of them required mending, which also took up a good portion of her time, fixing spines and sewing covers, for which there was a book to teach her how to do so. By the time she fell into bed in the evening, she was too tired to even have tea. It was a good distraction from her loneliness.

Belle didn’t perform the chores anymore, at least not the ridiculous ones like shooing bats out of the belfry or washing off bloodied aprons. Indeed, most of the chores were done before she could ever get to them, and she made a face over her shoulder every time she came to find their clothes laundered or their meals cooked. He had said she wouldn’t need to attend those things, being his wife, but it was still intruding on her personal domain. She’d done a fine job of it until then-what else did he expect her to do, while waiting for nothing? He certainly didn’t intend for her to fulfill wifely duties, and Belle had never been one to wait for her fate to happen to her.

But for all that he was hiding from her, Belle knew Rumpelstiltskin was concerned. She knew because late at night when she was somewhere between dreams, she would turn over in the bed-their bed-and see him sitting in his chair by the fire. Sometimes he was reading or sewing, looking up if she moved. Of course, come morning, he was always gone, and they never spoke out loud what he did while she slept. Perhaps he hoped she wouldn’t remember.

Nevertheless, the isolation and the combined quiet from her husband was driving Belle almost to annoyance, and she knew she needed to do something about it. Yet, the courage to approach him since their last conflict (she refused to acknowledge it as an argument) left her feeling too weak and jittery, and she didn’t trust herself to say the right thing. So when she woke to frosted windows and a white washed garden that morning, Belle carded through humble clothing Rumpelstiltskin had provided her with when she came under his employment. Her favorite was the blue dress, but he had also given her four others she had yet to really get a chance to wear. Two were floor length, though just as modest and plain as the blue, fine and pretty. She couldn’t imagine, now, after she knew all that she did, he had just “had them on hand.”

He had made them for her. Carefully and sweetly, he had made each one for her, perhaps with his own stitches. The thought warmed her, and she came to a rich violet cloth near the back. It was heavy, and cut with the same design as her blue dress, save for it was shorter and was paired with a longer sleeved white blouse. Belle stood up and made quick work of dressing, tying her stays with a little more vigor and grinning at the shorter hem that brushed just beneath her knees. It had been years and years since she’d worn something so practical, since her girlhood at least, and she grabbed the pair of boots sitting innocently at the bottom of the wardrobe, lacing them up over thick woolen tights and thicker socks.

There was a second cloak, as well, and the heavy berry dyed fabric hugged her arms and shoulders where the chill would try to seep in. By the time she was running a comb through her hair, it had begun to snow outside, so she pinned back enough to keep out of her face before grabbing her wicker basket that held some straw and hurried out of the bedroom.

Of Rumpelstiltskin, there was no sign, but Belle wasn’t looking for him either. She walked across the great hall with purpose, feeling eyes at her back and pretending to ignore it as she shuffled down the grand foyer’s marble steps and right out the front doors. She wanted it to be dignified and purposeful, but instead it took her a good minute or so to shove the doors open enough. Usually they opened with a touch, so Belle was growing irritated. Either Rumpelstiltskin really wasn’t paying any mind to the rest of his castle, or-

Belle frowned, staring at her gloved hands splayed on the wooden panel in front of her.

Or he was making it difficult on purpose.

Gritting her teeth, Belle threw her entire body weight into the door and shoved it open enough to squeeze through, stumbling onto the icy flagstones outside. She nearly slipped and fell when a sudden gust of wind slammed the doors behind her, and she sent a withering glare at the otherwise innocent architecture. Straightening her cloak, she huffed and stomped down the steps, intent on enjoying the snow.

Winter had held nothing but dreary notions for her when he had first told her they were going to the northern mountains. Belle was from the forests in the east, dark and green, humid and fragrant with flowers and moss. They never had snow, only ever a slight chill, and sometimes she missed it. For the most part, though, winter turned into a novelty that she was slowly coming to admire. Even with most things dead and covered, there was a strange beauty to it that could be appreciated. Passing by the courtyard, Belle made her way out onto the lawn that could either lead to the garden, the lake, or the forest, and she smiled, turning towards the garden.

There were winter berries and apples hidden there beneath the frost, and she intended to pick as many as she could find and bake a pie. There was a book with instructions on how to prepare certain meals, and the idea of an apple pie, hot and bubbling on a cold night with a mug of mulled wine was too tempting to pass up.

It took her a long time before she could find the apples in question, but she smiled when she found the ripe golden fruit, icy like gilded diamonds. Setting her basket down, she chose to ignore the magical properties of an enchanted garden that could bear fruit in the winter and set to choosing as many as she could. The first two tugs dislodged a barrel of snow that showered over her, burying her up to her ankles and submerging her basket in white powder.

The rest were frozen to their stalks, and Belle glared defiantly at them, wishing she’d gotten a knife from the kitchens to help. They began to break off after wriggling them around, though her arms were growing sore half an hour into the project. When she looked down at her meager foragings, she counted seven apples and sighed dejectedly.

In the storybooks, princesses gathering flowers and fruit always made it seem so easy. Why could-

A distant whistle made the hairs on her neck stand on end, and a quiet thud not a hand’s width from her face made Belle jump nearly out of her boots. Looking up and around, her eyes landed on the apple she’d intended to pluck next, now fully embedded with a small, thin arrow.

At first, Belle felt a flare of anger rise up in her because the only other person on the grounds was Rumpelstiltskin. How dare he scare her with something so dangerous, magical or not! But looking around, Belle saw no sign of the sorcerer, and after a moment’s thought, she knew he would never do something so reckless as _fire an arrow at her_. He got nervous if she carried the overloaded tea tray! He may have been upset or uncomfortable with her, but he would never…

That begged the question of who it could have been, though, and looking around to find no one, Belle narrowed her eyes. The garden wall was only a few feet away, but there was no one there. Reaching up, she yanked the apple down enough to shower more snow into her hair, blowing some out of her eyes until the apple snapped off its stem, and she carried both fruit and weapon in hand. The wall ran the length of the estate, disappearing farther out towards the woods to the left, and back to the courtyard to her right. Leaving her basket behind, Belle crept along the wall, trying to stay quiet.

When she came to the garden gate, she found her guilty party.

“Oh,” Belle breathed, straightening up and blinking wide blue eyes.

It was the littlest boy she could ever remember having seen. The top of his head could have brushed her waist, his shaggy mop of dark brown curls framed a sweet child’s face with curious brown eyes. His clothes were plain and threadbare, and he held a thin, tiny bow between his little hands. When he saw her, his eyes widened to an impossible size, and he tripped backwards trying to run off, falling with a startled cry.

“Oh, no, oh, dear-” Belle pushed the gate open, dropping the apple and kneeling down into the snow, helping the boy up. He was sniffling now, hiccuping on his own teary sobs. Hands fluttering more than Rumpelstiltskin’s own, Belle tried to pat his back and shoulders, helping him sit up and cooing over his scraped palms. He’d slipped right on the icy cobbles, and Belle tutted pulling out a handkerchief from her sleeve and blotting the scrapes. She didn’t know if it would do anything in the way of helping, but she let the young boy cry a bit while she warmed his fingers between her gloves, saying things like, “There, there, no harm done” and “You’re alright, it’s okay.”

Just when she began to fear he wouldn’t stop crying, his tears began to dry, and he was reduced just to sniffling. The tension that had begun to mount in her neck dissipated when the little boy looked up at her with wide, fearful brown eyes and a splotchy red nose, asking, “You won’t turn me into a snail will you?”

Staring in astonishment, Belle opened and closed her mouth several times before she found her voice. “Of course not. Why would I do something like that?”

“Be-Because it’s the Dark Castle-” his voice was growing thick and wobbly again, and Belle grew fearful of another bout of tears. “-and papa said not to g-go far away but I d-did-”

“Are you lost?” Belle whispered, touching his cheek gently. He shied away from her, and she tried to pretend it didn’t hurt her feelings.

“No,” the little boy sniffled, looking down at his hands and shivering in the snow. “But I lost my arrow.”

“You only have one?”

He nodded, wiping his nose on his arm. Belle frowned at that and took him by the chin with a gentle but firm touch, ignoring when he tried to loose himself, and wiped his face with her handkerchief. “Here,” she said, once he stopped trying to squirm from her, giving him the bit of linen with her curly embroidered initials. “Keep it. Use it instead of your sleeve. And your arrow’s fine,” she turned around on her knees and grabbed the apple up, showing him and arching her eyebrow. “You should be proud of your aim. I don’t think Robin Hood himself could shoot a finer shot.”

The little boy stared in unabashed wonder, blinking dumbly. Belle wedged her nails around where the arrow had lodged itself and cracked the icy fruit open. The arrow was sound enough, though it would probably snap upon next use. She gave it back to the boy, who took it slowly, then gave him half of the golden fruit. When he hesitated, she nodded with a smile, murmuring, “Go on. You deserve it. You did brave the Dark Castle, after all.”

With a secret, delighted smile, the little boy took the apple from her and they both bit into the fruit, yielding sweet, chilly juice that painted their cheeks and tickled on the way down.

“There’s no need to be afraid. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Belle told him kindly, smiling and touching her fingers to her mouth where the juice wet her lips. “What’s your name?”

The boy took another hefty bite out of the apple, seeds sticking to his chin before saying, “Roland.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Roland. My name is Belle.”

“I know,” Roland said, smiling into his apple slice and looking up at her shyly. He was rocking back and forth on his heels as if he wanted to take off. “Everyone knows who you are.”

Belle blinked, fingers stilling over the apple and lowering her hands into her lap. She tilted her head, trying her best not to frown. “What do you mean?”

“You married the Dark One. You’re his _lady_ ,” Roland made a face as if he didn’t like the prospect of the idea. Belle pressed her lips together to temper the laugh that was building in her throat.

“I suspect you don’t like the idea of love.”

“Bleh!”

“That’s what I thought,” Belle giggled. It made her sad to think that it could be so simple as a marriage coming with love. It made sense to a child-why did the rest of the world not see it the same way? Her smile falling a little when she saw how quickly he ate the apple and how hard he was trying not to look at her own. Wordlessly, she handed it to him, wishing she could give him her cloak too. His own small hood and tunic didn’t look very warm against such persistent snow.

“Thank you,” Roland said quietly, making quick work of the apple like he feared she may take it back.

“You’re welcome,” Belle answered politely, tilting her head. “Do you need help back to your home? Won’t your mother be worried?”

“Mama isn’t home,” Roland answered, licking the juice from his fingers.

“But she will be, and then you’ll be very much in trouble, I think.”

“Mama hasn’t ever been home,” Roland blinked up at her with wide eyes, pausing. “Have you seen her?”

 _Oh_. “Um...no,” Belle whispered. “I can’t say that I have. But surely your father will worry.”

Roland nodded then, morosely. “He wants me to learn to read,” the boy said, standing up and kicking snow off his trousers with a sore lip.

Belle took his hand, not sparing a glance over her shoulder at the castle, and turned to walk him down the road. When he didn’t protest at the direction, nor at her hand, she began to relax and looked down at him, saying, “That’s good. You’ll be ahead of all the other children when you go to school.” 

Roland looked up at her, frowning. “School?”

“Yes,” Belle raised her eyebrows, and when the little boy simply continued to stare back at her, she wondered just how in need the north was of a gentle hand that winter couldn’t spare. “It’s...it’s a place where you go with other children to learn things-how to read, and write, and use numbers.”

“I don’t think I like that very much,” Roland confessed, watching his boots stomp through the snow as they made their way down the road. The farther Belle got from the castle, the colder the wind felt against her skin, but she held tight to Roland’s hand.

“Where does your father live?”

“We live in the woods!” proclaimed the little boy, throwing his arm out to point at the forest. Belle arched a suspicious eyebrow.

They were going in the opposite direction of the town, so she couldn’t be sure what they would meet going this way. Highwaymen, perhaps, or trappers and hunters. Both ideas didn’t make her very enthusiastic, but she said nothing and simply walked on.

When they entered the woods, the wind fell away. The trees shielded them from most of the snow, save where the canopy overhead was plotted with holes in the evergreens. Belle finally chanced to glance back at the castle, but it was too far to see or make out other than the outer fortress covered with snow. Did Rumpelstiltskin know she had gone? Surely he must. The old legend said that if one called his name, he would answer if the patron was in enough desperation. She snorted at the very idea. As if he did anything he didn’t want to do.

Roland looked up at her curiously, but Belle just pressed her lips together with a smile and began to swing their hands as they walked. She was at a loss for conversation, and she wished she knew more songs or poems, more stories that she could share with a younger ear.

Just as quickly as he happened upon her, Roland suddenly let go of Belle’s hand. “Thank you, Lady Belle,” he said suddenly. They had come to no apparent marking, no house within sight, yet the little boy tore away from the road and into the underbrush as if he knew just where he was going.

Sputtering and blinking in shock, Belle gathered herself enough quickly to call out, “Roland!”

The little boy stopped, turning to her with wide brown eyes, and she smiled hesitantly, curling her hands up against her chest for warmth. “You can come back to see me,” she said, then added. “If you want.”

There was no answer from the little boy, save for a brilliant smile that made Belle feel light-headed, and she watched him disappear into the woods. The idea of letting a child run off would have made her balk, yet he ran with more purpose and confidence than she could have imagined feeling in that forest. Before she could gather herself enough to call him back anyway, he was already gone.

“Could’ve skinned that one and made a new pair of gloves, you know,” a nasty voice crawled up her ear, and Belle shrieked, whirling around so quickly she managed to trip over her own feet and land roughly on her backside.

Rumpelstiltskin stood in the middle of the road, fingertips tapping in a patient, steepled gesture as he looked down at her bemusedly. His eyes were narrowed, yet they were smiling even if his mouth was not. Belle only scowled in return and shoved herself up on her elbows on the wet, muddy ground. Her annoyance flared like a hot, living thing, and she dusted her cloak off in short, sharp brushes before stomping past him. She was nearly out of the woods completely before he appeared in front of her, blocking her with a snap of purple smoke and a blackened glare.

“You left,” Rumpelstiltskin nearly spat, and he threw a finger up, pointing it in her face.

Belle shoved his hand aside, glaring in return. “I was coming back!”

“I had no idea where you were, I thought-” His lip curled, he turned his face away, breathing through his nose like a bull. It created white clouds in the cold air, and Belle frowned as he reined his anger in enough to finally look her in the face again. “You cannot just leave.”

“Well I did.”

“Belle, I swear I will-”

“What?” Belle took a step closer, tempering her urge to smile when his face cleared in his confusion. He always became utterly befuddled whenever she invaded his personal space, and she cocked her head to the side. “I swore myself to you-twice. What else will you _swear_ , Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Do not, ever, leave the grounds again,” Rumpelstiltskin growled out, his eyes black with his annoyance. He turned on his heel and began the trek down the road, but the heat in her heart wouldn’t allow him to have the final say over this. He was not allowed to simply walk away.

Belle bristled, and she swept up a handful of snow, packing it between her hands before lobbing it directly at the back of his head. Her aim was a bit off and it hit him more at his neck and shoulders, but it was enough to make him skid to a stop. It was also no small satisfaction, followed by her own words, clearer and stronger than she felt, “Then do not, ever, leave me alone as a wife.”

He turned slowly, staring at her as if he didn’t know exactly what she was, and it gave Belle just enough time to gather more snow and pitch it at him in a sloppy throw, showering his shoulder with more of the white powder, stomping towards him. He tried to block it with an arm, but still so thrown by her words, he wasn’t quick enough to respond.

“Belle, I-”

Another snowball, this time it landed square in his face and left the imp spluttering and shaking his shaggy hair to free the ice. In his confusion, the heel of his boot scraped on the slick, wet mud beneath him and he fell flat on his back in a great huff. It was the complete lack of grace and the panicked flailing of his arms to catch his balance that brought a laugh to Belle’s lips, but when he didn’t move, something cold slivered down her back.

“Rumpelstiltskin?” She ran toward him, her heart squeezing in panic, but as she knelt down beside him, he was glaring at the sky with the most petulant look on his face. She sighed loudly, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he snapped, and before she could ask what was wrong, he scooped up a wet ball of snow and threw it in her face. Shrieking at the cold and the imp’s audacity, Belle scrambled to get up off the ground and took off in a run. She weaved, hopping like a snow bunny, avoiding the shock of ice whenever a snowball nearly got her until she made it back to the garden gate. She couldn’t say when her anger had melted into something warm and filling, or when Rumpelstiltskin had started giggling behind her, but she gained enough distance from him to sweep up her own ball of snow and duck behind the rose bushes.

It was a quiet few moments before he came into the garden, trailing off from his run. The thrill of him not using magic was burning in her veins, and she could hear him panting in his own exhilaration, looking around for her. She could see his lifted cheek, and his fingers twitched as he paused like a cat, sniffing the air.

With her free hand, Belle covered her mouth and nose and, the moment he turned his back, lept up over the bushes and threw the ball of ice at the back of his curly head.

Rumpelstiltskin yelped, flailing madly to get the ice out of his collar as Belle loped past him, giggling towards the trees. She’d just picked up another handful of ice when two strong arms slid around her waist from behind, and Belle screamed, throwing her feet out from under her. She pushed the snow back where Rumple’s face was buried in her hair and shrieked in laughter as they both careened to the ground, sprawling into a drift. 

Belle rolled and moved with hands and feet, huffing and puffing in the cold air to get to her foolish husband. Without much forethought, she threw herself forward, pouncing on the dark sorcerer and earning an undignified grunt until she had him pinned beneath her. Both her hands were on his wrists, and he was squirming restlessly, so she sat primly on his middle, smirking. 

“Say it.”

“I will not- _get off of me!_ ” Rumpelstiltskin huffed, but Belle only held his wrists tighter and leaned over him, snow dripping from her curls and her breath coming out in white, billowing clouds of smoke.

“Say it, Rumple!”

With a loud, dramatic sigh, the wizard fell back once more, glaring at the sky for a long moment before turning his mossy green eyes to her-eyes that looked like the bottom of a riverbed. “Fine,” he hissed, showing his stained teeth. “You have my deepest apologies.”

Belle took a moment to consider the words then shook her head. “Less mockery this time.”

His eyes flashed, and he looked utterly offended. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t believe you. Make me believe you actually feel remorse for being a heathen, and I’ll divest myself from your person,” Belle said decisively, proud of herself. She dug her heels into the ground near his side when he tried to roll, leaning her weight so he was still gloriously pinned. Was this how he felt when he made his deals with people? Belle could almost see the allure.

His lips were flattened, but Belle had the distinct notion he was fighting off a smirk. Slowly, as if speaking to a child, he said, “My Lady Belle, I am sorry to have offended you.”

Belle tilted her head to the side, not bothering to hide her smile. “And?”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “And...for scaring you.”

“...and perhaps something about being forbidden…?”

Rumpelstiltskin growled, muttering through his teeth, “And I do not forbid you from leaving the grounds.” He jerked upward, almost upending her and added hotly, “But you will tell me when you leave and where.”

Beaming, Belle let go of his wrists and stuck her hand out. “Deal.”

The word startled him, making him flinch, and his face fell a little, not nearly as tight in his suspicion or play. It happened too quickly for Belle to truly catch it, because before she could say anything, he was gentling her off of him with careful hands, stumbling to his feet. “Yes, yes,” he murmured, shaking and dusting off the snow from his clothes. He did not shake her hand.

Belle watched him, feeling farther away than she was, and shifted from foot to foot. The adrenaline was waning, and she was slowly realizing that she was soaked to the bone and that the sun had disappeared behind the mountains. A violent shiver passed over her, and she stepped up quickly to his side, touching his arm. “Let’s go in.”

He nodded dumbly, and they walked side by side through the garden, up the stairs, and through the doors. A careful weight rested on her lower back, and Belle bit her lip when she realized it was his hand, helping guide her up the stairs to the great hall. The curtains were pulled a little closer but not entirely, and the fire was spitting and crackling merrily, high and bright to light the walls with gold.

“Here,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, stopping her near the tall covered mirror. His hands came around her shoulders and unfastened the clasp of her berry colored cloak and lifting it away. She nearly tumbled forward, not realizing how heavy it had gotten, and watched as he hung it on the side of the mirror. She turned away with warmed cheeks when she saw him slipping off his own.

“Um, thank you,” she said, brushing off the front of her bodice. She could feel her hair dripping snow down her back, and shivered again when she felt his eyes follow it.

“It’s no matter.”

One of the books she’d left on the table was near the pretty silver tea tray, and Belle blinked at it, seeing that it was freshly made and dressed with cups, saucers, and warm, buttery pastries. Her mouth began to water, and she noticed then that her basket of winter apples sat upon the table just behind the tray and book. She turned to look at her husband, but he was looking everywhere else in the room but at her, his hands tucked behind his back as he made a wide arc around her to get to the teacups. His own hair was partially flattened from the wet snow, his kerchief and scarf limp and waterlogged. It stuck to his neck and the exposed part of his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned.

“Would…” Belle bit her lip, stepping closer to the table and, by default, closer to him. They had stopped running long enough for her to regain her breath, but her chest was tight and her face was warm. Rumpelstiltskin was staring very determinedly at the table top, but when she rested her hand there atop the book, he met her face with his eyes, for once not looking scared. He looked interested and perhaps just as bothered and flushed as she. Belle shivered and whispered, “Would you like to sit by the fire?”

They stared at one another, no noise in the cavernous hall save for the fire. Rumpelstiltskin slipped his hand over hers, turning her palm up and tearing his eyes away to look down the front of her bodice. Her cheeks pinked brighter, and he said with a halting whisper, “You’re dripping wet. You should...you should change.”

Belle’s fingers twitched, her hand and wrist turning warm in his careful grip. Her breath was catching in the suddenly stuffy air-it smelled like cloves and cinnamon and dust and magic, and everything was so close. She wasn’t sure when her other hand came up to rest on the laces of his leather waistcoat. “So should you,” she said.

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her, his eyes rounding impossibly wide and brimming with something that was not unhappy-something that was warm and full until he closed them and turned his face to press a kiss to her upturned palm.

So many things that day had begun without her giving much thought to them, but Belle thought very clearly about what she did next, cupping his face with the same hand and drawing him close to her. Their lips met in a kiss that felt like melting. Belle was both hot and cold at the same time, feeling his arm draw around her back and his hand tangle in her dark, wet hair. She cupped his face between both palms and drew him flush against her. It would have been enough, but then his hands tightened and hauled her upon the table, knocking over the basket of golden apples to spill across the table top and dropping on the floor around his boots while he laid her back.

Belle couldn’t quite breathe or think at all then, but she was certainly warm.


End file.
